


Hug Your Waist Tighter Than My Favorite Jeans

by hockeyisgay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: IIHF 2015 World Championship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeyisgay/pseuds/hockeyisgay
Summary: Even in his drunken, horny stupor, Claude manages to cover himself.“Sidney–”“Do you have lube?”





	Hug Your Waist Tighter Than My Favorite Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey, (it's fat albert) welcome to the first fic in this "side account" that a friend and I (henlo) started. I'm more of a hockey fan than she is, but she helps me a lot with writing these fics, so creds to her. (she's the funny one.) (she wishes.)

The irony of it is quite hilarious. Claude thought about it a lot during the remainder of the game, how positively ironic it was that the rivalry between them is the last thing on their minds as he passed the puck to Sidney, who was standing right there in front of the net.

It could've been anyone, but it just so happened to be Sidney, waiting patiently for a chance to score.

All that didn't matter as the horn sounds, the red light flashing as his hands go up the air. Somehow, the two make eye contact, amazement and shock is found in Sidney's eyes as he realizes who exactly fed him the puck. But O'Reilly and Burns are there, pulling him into a hug as Sidney skates around, yelling.

The captain moves toward them, and at the last second ducks out from crashing into Claude. Something like disappointment settles in Claude's chest, after expecting a celebratory hug from his teammate. Instead he laughs it off, shaking Sidney’s helmet before making his way to the bench.

He drops next to Seguin, pointedly ignoring the surprised smirk on his face.

As his roommate, Tyler was able to coax some information out of him when he's drunk out of his mind after a win. Information like how Claude wants to hang out with Sidney outside of hockey, how Claude wants to kiss Sidney's stupidly big mouth, sometimes.

“Well wasn't that unexpected, got anything else up your sleeve Giroux?” Nate teases, a bit of bitterness behind his words. Claude doesn't take it to heart, because he knows the other man and Sidney have this weird ‘growing up together friendship’ that Claude does not want to step into. Instead of indulging, Claude shrugs, taking a drink from his bottle before speaking.

“Dunno, Nate, what's the saying? Magician never reveals his secrets.” And Claude tries to focus on the faceoff, waiting for his next shift.

Somewhere to his left, Claude can see Sidney watching him through the corner of his eye, but he pays no mind to it; he probably hates Claude more than he hates him, so maybe he's still wrapping his mind around the assist from Claude.

 

____________

 

“Dude, I’m heading over to Ek’s room. Stop moping, just go and jerk off or something. Just stop looking so sad,” Tyler instructs, his nose crinkled.

Claude only has the energy to flip him off from his bed.

He's drunk, after the few too many shots Coots and Schenner kept shoving in his direction. He didn't care because they are his teammates back in Philly, so he trusts them to stop him from doing something _too_ stupid. He's still their captain and the minute this championship is over, they're all flying back to Philly.

“Shut the fuck up, ‘m not mopin’.” He tries weakly, shifting so the comforter wasn't bunched up over his waist and chest. His shoes and socks are gone and he's still wearing his suit pants with a t-shirt. He doesn't remember changing, but he's comfortable.

Tyler appears in his vision, leaning over the bed to give him a ‘sure you're not’ face.

“I'm pretty sure Crosby wants to angrily suck your dick as much as you want to. It never hurts to try,” and the man walks away, the sound of the door shutting heard seconds later. Claude groans loudly, ignoring the small hope he feels.

The last week since he's been here in Prague, Claude's been trying to smooth over the rivalry between the both of them. _For Canada_ , was his reasoning at first and for the confused looks on Coots’ and Schenner’s faces after the first day in the locker room that Claude had asked Sidney for tape, when there was a cart in the center of the room. Now though, Claude wants to be the one to make Sidney let out his weird honking laugh, or get him to relax and talk about something besides hockey and plays. He wants to take selfies with the man and post them because Sidney refuses to get an instagram.

Claude wants and wants, but he doesn't think he'll ever receive.

Sidney's an odd guy, with his superstitions and rituals, who keeps his life private and holds stupid grudges against people. Claude knows that they're rivals, he knows that he's said some things he wasn't proud of and checked Sidney and his teammates with unnecessary force. But he wants to get past that, befriend the man because there's no doubt that he's an incredible player with a personality that Claude wants to understand. He's willing to be patient, to make baby steps in order to create at least an acquaintance with Sidney.

That’s how Claude finds himself shutting his eyes and slips away into his mind, imagining things that he shouldn't.

There are parts of Sidney that he wants to touch and explore, places that he wants to leave soft kisses and whispers of praise. He feels the warmth spread from his gut, to the rest of his body. His fingers twitch from their place on the thick blanket over his stomach.

This isn't the first time Claude's thought of his rival in ways he really shouldn't be. What would his teammates think? The fans? Claude getting off to the idea of stinking deep into their rival team’s captain, to the thought of having the NHL’s golden boy on his knees for Claude. They’d be disgusted, maybe even betrayed that he fell for Sidney Crosby’s charm.

That doesn’t stop the twitch his cock from stirring as Tyler’s words came to mind, or the thought of Sidney’s mouth wrapped tightly around his cock. A soft groan leaves his mouth as he snakes his hand down to squeeze himself briefly. He’s half hard, just at the thought of Sidney.

“Oh fuck it,” Claude mutters, tossing the blanket off the hotel bed. He shimmies to the center of the bed, trying to yank off his shirt. His fingers fly down to unbutton his dress pants, undoing the zipper just as quickly. It's like he can't get a hand on his dick quick enough. Finally, he manages to get his pants and boxers off, wrapping a warm hand around his hardening length.

Claude groans at the contact, wasting no time in setting up a fast rhythm. His thumb spreads precum down the side of his dick to make things easier, but it won't do much to the inevitable chafing. He halfheartedly spits into his hand, far too gone to stop and get his lube from his bag. His mind wanders into the abyss of dirty thoughts.

Thoughts like Sidney Crosby’s ass, or the occasional pin down against the boards that makes adrenaline pump in all the wrong places.

His hand goes faster, his legs squirm and his feet connect in a strange shape.

Then there’s frantic, loud knocking that startles him so bad he kicks his legs out and smashes his head against the headboard. The knocking continues, louder and louder until Claude can't ignore it. He sits up in the middle of the squeaky bed, cocking his head toward the door.

There’s a click and the handle turns, and Claude’s mind spins for where he left his keycard in his drunken haze.

Then he remembers that Tyler had left, could he be back already?

Before he could reach for the blanket discarded on the hotel floor, the door is swinging open. And out of the people Claude could imagine to barge into his room, the last one is Sidney Crosby.

The man has a wild expression on his face, his dark hair sticking up at odd ends. Claude can't help but let his mind run with the image and his cock spurts precum.

Even in his drunken, horny stupor, Claude manages to cover himself.

“Sidney–”

"Do you have lube?”

"I–what. Why do you, sorry. Why are you here?”

"For lube, preferably.”

"Sidney, what the fuck?” Claude is flushed, because of embarrassment, horniness, and the alcohol in his system.

Of course, Sidney would be the one to barge into his hotel room, tight shorts and everything, demanding lube. It wouldn't be Claude's life if it wasn't Sidney, the guy he's kind of crushing on.

The same guy who he was just jerking it furiously to.

Talk about coincidence.

"I thought we were friends, dude. Let me borrow your lube. I know you have it, I’ve been in your bag before. I dunno why you’d need it at a game, though.” Sidney quirks an eyebrow, taps his chin, daring Claude to argue. If it was possible, Claude's cheeks turn a deeper shade.

"We are not having this conversation. Get out, go ask someone else. Even your boy MacKinnon, surely he'll give you whatever you ask for.” And no, Claude's not jealous. He's horny and kind of pining, but that's not the topic right now.

Sidney rolls his eyes, opening his arms.

"Oh, sure we are! It’s a great convo starter. Why not, _friend_?”

In turn, Claude rolls his own eyes, growing annoyed. He likes it better when Sidney's mouth was shut, not spewing his weird knowledge. At the back of his mind, he thinks about how he'd prefer to have Sidney's mouth on other places. He tries to ignore it, though, he really doesn't need his boner making any more of an appearance.

Sidney taps his foot impatiently, waiting for Claude to just give in. Claude tries not to notice the way his thighs bounce, or the way the material stretches over the pale skin, almost promiscuously.  
Claude groans in annoyance, staring Sidney down.

“I’m waiting. Very patiently at that.” Sidney says, eyeing Claude right back.

The silence settles over them, and the longer Claude's eyes wonder over Sidney's fit form, the more his fingers itch to grab his half hard length. Sidney sighs, casually throwing his arms down in front of him and tapping his foot harder.

“We can play this stalemate, or you can tell me where the lube is and I’ll leave.”

When Claude continues to awkwardly scramble for words, Sidney gets fed up enough to begin looking for himself. He glances around the room, spotting Claude's bag. Sauntering over to it, he bends to search. Claude feels his lip quiver, trying to work up the courage to tell Sidney that’s his stuff. His bag, his clothes, his phone charger, his lube. But he says nothing, and Sidney continues his search and rescue mission.

“Merde,” Claude curses, watching as Sidney bends, his ass on full display. He can't stop his hand from creeping down to grip his dick tightly. It's– it's _wrong_ , for so many different reasons, but he can't find it in himself to stop or even move his hand.

From his spot on the floor, Sidney lets out an exasperated sigh, dropping his head.

“I know what you're doing, stop.” He looks over his shoulder at Claude, an unimpressed expression on his face. Claude only gives him a crooked smile, a shoulder coming up in a shrug. Did Sidney really expect a drunk, horny man _not_ to at least try?

The man continues to sort through his luggage, commenting the entire time.

“This is a mess, do you not know how to pack, Giroux? _Jesus_ , I know you wore this three days ago, why is it mixed in with your clean laundry?” All while Sidney is distracted, Claude has been scrambling and leaning over the hotel bed trying to grab at the blanket. His mouth is askew, hair messy as he chuckles and finally grasps it in one hand. The other hand comes down to smack against the carpet to catch himself.

Now he's halfway off the bed, the blanket still on the floor and his body still exposed. Meaning that he can't cover himself and he's in a bad situation.

"Nice dick, Giroux,” Claude freezes, afraid to move. He can feel Sidney's eyes on him, and in any other circumstance, Claude would bask in the attention, but not in this one.

_Fuck it_ , he thinks to himself before rolling onto the floor. He's mindful of the fact that he's naked and vulnerable in front of his captain and oldest rival, so he wastes no time in retrieving the blanket and dropping back onto the bed.

Sidney stands tall seconds after, holding his half full bottle of lube, a sly grin in his face. Claude sets a hand over the area where is dick is hidden by the blanket, worried Sidney can still see his hard-on. The last thing Claude wants is for the man to put one and one together and realize the reason his dick hasn't _died_ is because Claude's interested in him. And being _in_ Sidney, but that's not important.

"Thanks for the lube, G. I know I was interrupting something, but before I head out, need some?” Claude's eyes widen in shock, his eyebrows reaching up to his hairline.

Sidney himself probably had several drinks, because he's normally reserved, not the one to jokingly flirt with the other guys. Claude's not going to lie and say that this isn’t a side of Sidney that he's willing to indulge in.

Feeling bold himself, Claude shrugs, pretending to look disinterested.

"Yeah, I guess, only if you're helping.”

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the fact that his dick is _unbelievably_ hard, but something makes Claude pull the blanket off his lap, exposing himself. Sidney's brows raise, but he schools his expression.

He inches closer, standing at the foot of his bed, his knuckles white from gripping the bottle tightly. Claude's eyes sweep up from his knees all the way up pass Sidney's pale legs, pass his taut abdomen and broad shoulders, landing on his lips.

"Is that so?” Claude nods, his tongue going dry as Sidney kneels onto the bed, his thighs quivering to hold up his weight.

"How exactly should I do that, Claude?” He asks, tossing the bottle so that it landed next to Claude's left thigh. His jaw drops, staring at Sidney's hazel eyes.

He must be dreaming, there's no way this is the same Sidney that broke his wrists a while ago, the same ‘I don't like him, I don't like any guy on their team,’ Sidney.

The last time Claude checked, the only reason that they weren't at each other’s throats was because they're playing for Canada. (That and Claude's come up with the conclusion that he kind of wants to suck his dick and hold his hand, so the last thing Claude wants is to hurt Sidney.)

In possibly the least sexy way possible, Sidney crawls closer to kneel near Claude's knees. He sits back on that ass of his, his hands resting comfortably on his thighs. Claude's hand almost reaches out instinctively to grip it tightly in his own.

"Your move Giroux,” Sidney whispers, and Claude catches his eyes glancing down. He wonders if Sidney's joking, since he's never experienced how far the man’s jokes run.

"You're the one with the lube, Crosby.” He quips, feeling out of place, out of his element. Claude knows what to do when he's on the ice, that's where he's most comfortable. But here? Here in his hotel room at two am, hard as hell with Sidney fucking Crosby on his bed, Claude has no idea what to do.

He knows what he _wants_. And Claude wants a lot of things.

Claude is drunk enough to forget what happened next. But it's like a light switch flicked on, Sidney's lips were on his, soft and smooth. Claude's hands reach out, gripping Sidney's cheeks, while the man’s hands land on his chest. They're both breathing heavily through their noses, getting as much air as possible while their hands _explore_.

They kiss until Claude is pulling away, trying to get more air into his lungs as soon as possible so he can kiss Sidney again. The nose-breathing is harder than originally presumed.

Claude forces his eyes open, catching a glimpse of Sidney's lips. His cheeks are pink, and his mouth hangs open, swollen and red. And Claude did that, he's the one who made Sidney look like that.

Claude's never been in love before, until _now_.

“G, what're we doing?” The man asks, but there's a hint of a smile on his face. It makes Claude want to kiss him even more. So he does.

He brings a hand back to Sidney's face, leaning in slowly, giving the man time to pull away. Claude doesn't want to hurt the man or make him uncomfortable, despite their rivalry. On the ice, he'll do what he has to do, but right now, Claude and Sidney are alone, off and far from the ice.

Sidney doesn't pull away, instead, he closes the distance, shuffling even closer to Claude. He takes the moment to lick Sidney's lip, his tongue worming into the warmth of Sidney's mouth. Their hands wander aimlessly, and _fuck_ , Claude can't think of a better thing to do after a win.

A hand that isn't his own brushes over his dick, sending a jolt up his spine.

“Putain,” Claude groans out, head pulling away to watch as Sidney's fingers ghost over the sides of his cock. He looks up, want written on his face.

Sidney rolls his eyes, another hand reaching for the bottle of lube. He opens the bottle with a clink, but Claude's hand reach out to stop him before the message gets from his brain to his mouth.

Sidney raises an eyebrow, holding the bottle over his other hand.

"Off, all of it.” Claude demands, his hands yanking on the hem of Sidney's shirt. The man laughs – the fucking goose laugh that Claude can't believe he finds attractive – and hands the bottle off to Claude. He points at it while speaking.

"Don’t put any yet, I want to do it.”  
The thought sends right down to Claude's dick. He whines, but watches Sidney start to strip out of his clothes. It's far from hot and he's fumbling a lot and it's so undeniably Sidney, that Claude can learn to like it.

Finally, _finally_ , Sidney's clothes are gone and Claude's mouth just _waters_ at the sight of him, flushed and all muscles. Now that it's established that he can touch, Claude's hands grip the man’s hips and he tugs. Ungracefully, Sidney falls into his lap, and Claude’s smile goes lopsided.

"Can't wait,” Claude whispers against Sidney’s neck, and Sidney can hear the smile in his voice. Claude figures that he's drunk enough to sleep with his rival. It’s for Canada, he thinks before Sid’s lips find his once more.

 

“Shit, Claude, get up.” Sidney hisses, and a pillow thumps against Claude's head. The ginger groans, feeling the effects from all the alcohol he consumed last night. He peels himself off of the bed, squinting at Sidney. The man was shoving his clothes back on, and Claude managed to get a glimpse of his ass in his boxers. The memories from last night return, a groan slipping from his lips.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late for practice.” Sidney says, shoving his shirt over his head. Claude nods, but the movement makes him groan in pain. His eyes slip shut, willing the pain will go away.

"Here, drink some water. The alcohol makes you dehydrated and your brain is craving water.” Sidney explains and hands him a bottle of water when Claude's eyes reopen. Sidney smiles in sympathy, hesitation in his eyes before he leans down to leave a kiss in Claude's hair. He freezes, looking up at the man in surprise. Sidney Crosby never ceases to surprise him.

Shrugging, Sidney pulls away. “For the lube.”

"Where'd you learn that? Thought you took history classes.” Claude asks, after taking a gulp of the water. It doesn't work immediately, but it does soothe the dryness in his mouth. They'll have to talk about this at some point, but Claude's fine with ignoring it, if that's what Sidney wants to do.

“Sat next to a kid who was always studying for her bio classes. Learned a few things,” Sidney's lip curls up, a twinkle in his eyes. Claude nods, feeling a little dumb, probably still drunk from last night.

“I need to shower, got your Flyers germs all over me.”

_And in you_ , Claude thinks, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. He shakes his head, regretting it seconds after, and takes another sip of his water. Sidney walks to the door of Claude's hotel room, but doesn't leave right away. Their eyes meet for a second, and Claude gives him a smile.

"Save me a seat on the bus, Sid.”

With a final eye roll, Sidney nods. “Of course, Claude.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lube is important.
> 
> stop changing my notes, ratatouille


End file.
